


5 Times Thomas Hated Labels and One Time He Still Hated Labels

by NobleZeda



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: 5 + 1, AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Lots of it, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Newt is a cute lil shit, but still cute, sexual innuendo, thanks to minho, thominho - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2333870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobleZeda/pseuds/NobleZeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Minho experienced Thomas hating labels and one time Thomas still hated labels but Minho hated them too, and it turned out slightly better for the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Thomas Hated Labels and One Time He Still Hated Labels

 

 

  
1.

Even on his best day - which was arguably today, judging by the noises he was siphoning directly into Thomas’s mouth - Minho was never smooth, level-headed, or calculated. His entire body was on fire, and, from the way Thomas was groping at him, he may have been experiencing the same sensation.

Thomas was half-tugging at Minho’s shirt, almost uncertainly, as though he wanted to pull it off, but then he kept thinking better of it and becoming indecisive again. Minho wished he’d quit thinking and enjoy the moment, because everything was about to get terribly, suffocatingly, bone-crushingly awkward between the two of them. But, as previously stated, Thomas was the only one who was thinking, with the occasional half-formed idea leaving his mouth in the form of a breathy hiss or grunt. As for _him_ , well... Minho was _glad_ he couldn’t talk.

Minho’s legs were weak. He was _hard_. He made a conscious effort to keep his waist angled away from Thomas so that that can of worms needn’t be opened. But all he could think of was Thomas’s lips and _Thomas_ being hot and heavy, and if they ever got the chance to-

“Fuck,” Minho breathed, pulling his lips back from Thomas’s as the closet door opened with a burst of brilliant light and loud, thumping music. Minho turned to glare at whoever had opened the door. He was quite sure that the rule was _seven minutes_ and that had to have been less than _two_ -

But then Thomas grabbed both sides of Minho’s face with his hands and turned Minho’s head significantly for the sole purpose of kissing him again. It was passionate and slow, a 180-turn; Minho got the idea that Thomas was trying to completely deny that there was anybody else in the world, much less someone standing in a doorway watching them. Minho was having a hard time coming up with an excuse that was anything more than the fact that they were both very, _very_ drunk.

There was a loud whoop from Gally - Minho’s previously sought after perpetrator - and he grabbed Minho by the back of the shirt and hauled him out, laughing and hollering.

“Fucking cockblock,” Thomas hissed as he stumbled out after Minho. Minho felt Thomas’s face pressing into his back as he tripped slightly. Without turning around, Minho reached back a hand to steady him. Thomas then put his hand over it, and when Minho slid it away, Thomas kept his hand solidly on Minho’s waist.

“Back to the circle, you shucking fitheads!” Gally yelled. He was beyond drunk. He shoved Minho and Thomas back to the circle comprised of Brenda, Teresa, Newt, Harriet, Sonya, Aris, Alby, and Rachel, all of whom were sitting on the tacky rug.

Thomas sat - nearly falling - next to Minho. Newt was yelling something, but his accent got nearly indecipherable when he’d had a few drinks. Minho didn’t usually try to understand. It was usually 90 percent garbage, anyway. He could, however, make out _Another beer_ which made sense, because he was shoving two brown bottles into Minho’s lap.

Minho didn’t remember Thomas grabbing one, but the next thing he knew, the guy had the top off and was starting to chug. Minho was almost worried that he would drown.

Thomas side-glanced at Minho as he downed it, and Minho had to cross his legs, because it wasn’t just his face that was filling with blood. _Again_. Thomas was fucking _smirking_.

The bottle popped as Thomas pulled it off of his disgustingly perfect lips. Minho had half a mind to grab him by the shoulder and push him back into the closet, put that mouth to better use. Thomas fucking knew what he was doing.

Minho glanced down at Thomas’s long, thin fingers, intent upon imagining them doing the worst of the worst to him, until he was distracted by what they were doing. Slowly, expertly, Thomas was tearing off the bottle’s sticker. Minho’s eyebrows pulled together.

“I don’t like labels,” Thomas said resolutely, nodding. He nearly had to shout over the _thumpthumpthump_ of the music. Minho nodded back. He was fucking smashed. As much as he wanted there to be, he was pretty sure that there were not two Thomases in front of him. And then the clones continued, “You know, your name is almost Minnow.”

Minho glanced around the circle. Nobody seemed to be paying them any mind. There was another bottle spinning on that tacky yellow and pink rug. Aris was tracking its movements eagerly.

That was when Minho felt Thomas’s hand slip over his thigh. He felt unsteady. He was sure he was going to give that tacky rug a new paint job, whether from nerves or having drunk too much.

  
2.

Minho had not had near enough to drink. The memory of the party last night, of the game, of _Thomas_ and the feel of him pressed so tightly against Minho was still fresh as a daisy in his mind. Okay, maybe a little fuzzy around a _lot_ of edges, but he remembered everything he needed to remember. Everything important. Like the feeling of Thomas pressing Minho’s name into his shoulder.

Meant privately - from Thomas, for Minho and no one else. Intimate. Minho could still feel the tingle where it had happened. He pressed the tips of his fingers to the offending area - now an elegant purple mark decorating his otherwise smooth skin.

A soft knock on the wooden door.

Minho started. He realized he’d been staring at himself in the mirror that hung on the upper half of his closed closet door. His hair was sticking up - but it usually did that - and he looked generally screwed to Hell (not in the good way, i.e. by Thomas), but otherwise fine.

Minho forced himself to tear away and open the door. Thomas was standing there, two bottles of water in hand. He looked nervous. Minho’s stomach gave a violent twist.

“Uh, hey.”

Minho wasn’t sure which of them said it, so he didn’t reply, just stepped to the side and let Thomas in. God, he was so screwed. Again, not in the good way.

“I’m assuming that you’re as hung over as I am,” Thomas either said or continued. “Here.” He held out the second water bottle prominently. Minho accepted it, because what the hell else could he do?

There was a tense, awkward air between them, probably generated 95 percent by Minho, either directly or indirectly. He busied himself with twisting off the small cap and taking a nursing but long sip.

Minho wasn’t sure if Thomas remembered, but _he_ certainly did. But if Thomas _did_ remember, then why the hell would he be there? Last night had been a dumb, stupid, idiot mistake on Minho’s part, he told himself.

He’d always been sort of a little maybe kind of mildly really attracted to Thomas, since the day they’d met, over two years ago, and Minho could still recall everything about that scene to a tee, at the drop of a hat. (Minho had been wearing a purple plaid shirt over his favorite black shirt, and Thomas had been wearing a red shirt that he still sometimes wore but Minho never let on that he recognized and it had been a Wednesday and Minho and Newt had been in a coffee shop talking and Thomas had walked in and Newt had called Thomas over like they were old friends and Thomas responded well which was impossible because there was no way that those two knew each other and Minho didn’t know Thomas but then they met and shook hands and Thomas scooted in next to Minho and Newt gave them an odd look and ever since then Thomas had started showing up on _Black Ops_ night not that Minho had ever complained.) And he’d done so well at keeping all of that shit hidden - at least from Thomas - so he didn’t know if he could take losing Thomas now.

Minho pulled the water bottle from his lips as he leaned back against the wall, caught Thomas (who was sitting on Minho’s only table in his small college dorm room) swallow heavily and look away quickly.

“So... Some party last night,” Minho muttered. He set down the water bottle and placed his hands firmly in his pockets, otherwise he knew they would start shaking. As cool as he was in most situations, this was the kind of shit that Minho couldn’t take. Give him crazy people, dark pits, labyrinths - he’d go through them all a hundred times before facing this conversation.

“Was it?” Thomas asked, glancing at Minho.

Minho’s eyes widened a fraction. Did Thomas really not remember it? Minho couldn’t decide if it was good or bad - it was definitely one of the extremes though.

“I - the next time Teresa throws a party, remind me to steer clear of her a week before and after,” Minho said, and chanced out a chuckle, but it sounded harsh. He’d decided to go safely into the topic. Thomas wouldn’t meet his eye, and Minho couldn’t make anything out of his expression.

Then, he noticed that Thomas was fiddling with the light blue label that wrapped around his bottle. He began to tear at it. And then he caught Minho staring.

“I don’t like labels,” he explained, and that sold Minho. Thomas told him that last night. If he’d remembered, he wouldn’t have said it again. Minho nodded. He might be in the clear after all. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, although undoubtedly relieved.

“Want to go grab some pizza?” Minho offered. “It’ll be on me.”

What the hell. He could celebrate a little.

  
3.

The tension subsided with time. Sitting across a small booth with nothing to do but talk (Minho had known Thomas would say yes - what college kid turns down a free meal?) did wonders. Thomas seemed to ease up significantly with every passing moment.

“Did your parents freak out much when you came home so late?” Minho asked, after a while, and almost immediately regretted it. Thomas stiffened - and it put about a thousand holes into any lie Minho wanted to tell saying that he didn’t remember a thing last night. He sat there, an agonizing wait, watching Thomas’s mind process his fuck up.

“Not really. They were already in bed,” Thomas answered. “I’m just-” He cut himself off abruptly.

“Just what?” Minho pressed. He wanted to get off the topic. Everything Thomas could say helped with that.

Thomas began to sweat. He reached up to the collar of his white t-shirt and pulled downward. There, at the very base of his throat, was a mark that Minho remembered in explicit detail having sucked into his skin. His eyes widened and his dick twitched, especially at the thought of his body having the compliment. The only difference was, unlike Thomas, Minho (stupidly) had not even tried to cover his. Thomas’s eyes landed on it with speedy precision. Minho would not have protested one bit if the floor had decided to open and swallow him at that moment.

“Must have been some party,” Thomas echoed, and Minho thanked his lucky stars that this kid was an idiot.

Thankfully (Minho literally said a silent prayer of gratitude) the waitress came by at that moment and started placing things all over the table. Thomas began to pick absently at the ketchup bottle in the condiment basket as he thanked her and she left. Minho watched his fingers work. They were delicate and smooth, but undoubtedly strong and practiced. Minho should really stop looking at them.

“I don-”

“Like labels. Mhmm,” Minho muttered. He knew. Thomas looked slightly put off. There was an elephant the size of Manhattan balancing on the table between them, and it was all Minho’s fault. He tried to think of something else to say. _Anything. Something to talk about that wouldn’t lead to the party._

“You’ve got one, too,” Thomas commented, as though he were slightly scared. He indicated the mark on his own neck with a single finger. “How’d that happen?”

Minho decided to play it safe and be himself - he went with defensive. “How’d _yours_ happen? Funny how these things work out. Almost like sucking on someone’s neck _causes_ them to get hickies. Weird.”

“I - I just mean - who-”

And now, Minho knew he would have to outright lie. He gritted his teeth. “I don’t know,” he answered, although he wanted to scream _you! you you you! you did this, look_! Thomas’s face made an odd shift.

“Oh. Okay. Uh, I - I don’t remember who gave me mine either,” he murmured to the table, face nearly shoved into his hand. It was kind of adorable. Minho hated himself.

  
4.

They left the pizza place with Minho only moderately worried about paying for dinner for the rest of the week. Thomas was walking with a much wider gap between them than usual. They nearly took up the whole sidewalk now.

“Hey, everything alright?” Minho asked at last, the one question he’d been dying to ask since this morning. Thomas seemed startled.

“Huh? Yes. Fine,” he said, shoving his hands in his pocket.

“Because things have been really awkward all day, and I don’t know why,” Minho continued, pulling the courage out of his ass. He forced himself not to think about where this conversation was leading the both of them. After a slight pause, he added, “And I don’t like it.”

Thomas sighed. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry.” He rubbed a hand over his face, stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk and kicked at the ground. His shoe made a scuffing sound. Minho stopped and regarded him with careful interest. “It’s just - last night threw me out of whack.”

“I thought you didn’t remember it,” Minho wondered aloud. How could it have-?

Thomas looked up at Minho through a gap in his fingers. “I - I do remember some - some parts of it.”

Minho’s hands started shaking and he felt dizzy. “Some - like what?” he asked. He wished suddenly that he had not thrown out his soda upon leaving the restaurant. His throat had never been so dry.

“Like - like - like I lied when I said I didn’t remember who gave me this,” Thomas stuttered, indicating the blush of purple on his neck. His face was devoid of all color. There were beads of sweat along his forehead. Minho was positive that he was going to throw up on everything. Everything. Every single thing. He had ruined his relationship with Thomas because of a few stupid beers and a dumb decision. Here was Thomas, about to tell Minho that he didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. “I remember. It was you.”

Minho’s throat clogged up. He stared at his shoes. It was amazing that he could manage to get the words out. “I know.” What an idiot.

Minho could _feel_ Thomas’s brain processing this. “But - but you said-”

“So did you,” Minho said. And, with a sudden burst of bravery, he stared Thomas dead in the eye and said, “And I’m not sorry about last night. I’ve - you - Ever since we met - I mean-”

“So you remember last night?” Thomas asked, in a measured tone.

“Yes,” Minho persisted, and he liked to believe that his voice didn’t shake.

“So do I,” Thomas said, in the same tone as before. “I thought you didn’t.”

“I thought _you_ didn’t.”

“I said I didn’t because I thought you-!” Thomas cut himself off. “Wait. I - Have you - Did you say that... What happened last night... You...?”

Minho squared his shoulders. “I’ve had a stupid giant huge thing for you since we first met, Thomas. And - and after last night if you’re not into me back then I might as well declare myself asexual because you pretty much ruined me for anybody else for the foreseeable-”

Minho never thought that his life would have a perfect moment. Actually, if someone ever told him that one day he would be cut off from a rant with a kiss, he would probably have said that he’d punch that person in the face. But right now, all he did with his fist was gather as much of Thomas’s shirt in it as he could in order to pull him closer.

“What the _hell_ have we been doing all morning then?” Thomas breathed forcefully, right up against Minho’s lips. Minho wasn’t sure he could go on living after that moment. Thomas was so enticing that Minho felt it like a physical ache in his chest. And, stupid stupid _stupid_ Minho, he of course had no control over his mouth.

“Please come have sex with me.”

Thomas froze. He pulled back slightly, looked at Minho in confusion, raised both eyebrows. “What?”

“I - my dorm room - Newt should still be - _please_ come have sex with me.” Minho was desperate. He didn’t want to admit that he had jerked off countless times to the thought of Thomas. Now, however, he wasn’t so sure that he could handle anything less than the full experience. He wanted to be allowed to explore the maze of Thomas’s body, to memorize every inch, work out every detail. His was sure that his gaze, which worked up and down Thomas like a wave on a beach, betrayed every thought in his head. So he didn’t try to hide it anymore.

“You want me to-?”

“I think you’re fantastically attractive and literally the only person I’ve ever thought about this way for months and I’ll even watch some dumb movie with you afterwards just because you like it. I know how much you like _Star Wars_ and I mean it’s not a perfect date movie, but your face would be eno-”

“Minho, has anybody ever told you that you talk a lot when you’re nervous?”

Minho paused. He laid his palm flat against Thomas’s chest, feeling the warmth and the steady beat beneath his finger tips. He didn’t care how blatantly public this was. He wouldn’t care if they were in a big circle of everybody Minho had ever met. It would be worth it. “You make me really nervous,” he admitted, almost hesitantly, with a scared chuckle.

Thomas seemed to collect himself for a minute, and Minho desperately wanted to get inside of his head and know what he was thinking. He wanted to map out Thomas’s entire thought process, to unravel him completely in mind and body. He wanted to stay up late and eat dumb food and watch dumb movies and kiss a lot and make breakfast in the kitchen while they were both half-naked and had extreme bedhead. He wanted the entire experience, the whole shebang, with Thomas and only Thomas.

“So, what do you say?” Minho asked. He wasn’t sure he could stand a no, but he was hopeful.

“How far away do you live again?”

 

\+ + +

 

Thomas was messing with the bottle of lube. Minho walked back into the main area, hanging up his phone, when he noticed. Thomas held up the newly-shorn bottle with a slightly guilty look mixed into a shy grin. “How’d it go?” he asked.

“Newt will not be barging in on us,” Minho assured Thomas. “And, as embarrassing as that conversation was, it is nowhere near as embarrassing as the thought of my roommate seeing my bare butt.” He tossed his phone onto the mass of not-quite-very-dirty shirts and climbed onto the bed. Unfortunately, by now the entire population of the university probably already knew that Minho and Thomas were getting some.

Thomas was grinning. He set the bottle on the corner of the bed and leaned back on his hands. Minho crawled over to him - it probably wasn’t very sexy at all. Thomas seemed satisfied enough, however, when they started to do a lot of spectacular kissing.

And then Minho’s phone rang. He cursed himself for not putting it on silent when he’d had the chance.

“Fuck - sorry,” he said softly, his face pressed in close to Thomas’s. “Ignore it.”

It chirped again. Thomas bit his lower lip. Minho exploded.

“Do you want to shut it off, just in case?” he asked. Minho found himself nodding without realizing it. He stood and took two steps away from the bed, reached out and grabbed his phone. He had two texts.

**From: Newt**   
**U GET SOME BBY**   
**IM PROUD OF U**

**From: Newt**   
**pls dont use my bed for**   
**anything i just washed**   
**the sheets and ur both**   
**gross COOTIES**

Minho turned a violent shade of scarlet as he set his ringer on mute. Immediately after, he threw his phone back into the heap of clothing, then turned and went back to Thomas.

Thomas placed both hands on Minho’s waist, traced with the tips of his fingers on Minho’s stomach, pulling forward until his fingers rested on the button of Minho’s jeans. Thomas had barely even touched him yet and Minho was already getting hard - a true testimony to how bad he had it for this boy.

“You know what’s infuriating?” Thomas asked, as he began working at Minho’s belt with an agonizingly leisurely pace. “The fact that you don’t seem to realize how hot you are.”

Minho tipped his head back. “Trust me, I know how hot I am,” he answered without thinking, his voice a low moan. “But you are just as hot. And right now I might be able to be convinced that you are hotter.”

Holy shit, Thomas’s fingers were on Minho’s pant-button. Holy shit, Thomas was about to take off Minho’s pants. Holy shit, Minho was about to have his dick _touched by Thomas._

“Ow - fuck!”

“Shit, are you okay?” Minho asked as Thomas withdrew his hands rapidly. His boner died an inglorious death as it was smothered by concern.

“Christ,” Thomas muttered, sucking on the edge of his thumb, “this whole thing is so not sexy. Sorry, my thumb got pinched by the damn button.”

Minho smirked with one side of his mouth. “I don’t know,” he murmured, pulling Thomas’s hand away from his mouth and bringing the offending appendage up to his own lips. “It looks pretty irresistible from where I’m standing.”

He slipped Thomas’s thumb into his mouth and ran his tongue over the surface of the skin, sucking lightly. Then, as Thomas’s eyes fought an attempt to roll back into their skull, Minho once again climbed on top of him. They latched together like a bottle and its cap - Minho was seated directly on top of Thomas’s dick, and was grinding down. It was unarguably the best feeling in the world. Thomas let out a low moan, and, yep, that was like the third time that Minho started to pop up that day. It was just teasing now, was what it was.

Minho rocked down with a fervor - he was hardly paying attention until he felt a small crack in his right temple. Thomas groaned in pain, and everything stopped once more.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” Minho said, and he reached up with gentle hands to examine Thomas’s forehead, the sight of the collision. There was no mark, at least.

“We really suck at this,” Thomas commented, but his tone was light. “It’s a good thing Newt isn’t here. He’d be laughing his ass off.”

“I’m seeing a lot of room for improvement,” Minho agreed. He didn’t want to talk about Newt when his dick was still being so delightfully cooperative. “We’ll just have to practice a lot. It’s a shame.”

“Oh, yes. A terrible tragedy,” Thomas pitched in. He reached his hands up to Minho’s neck and pulled the boy down for a light kiss. It hurt his neck a little, at first, but Minho was determined not to have any more screw-ups with this. He made a soft noise of contentment for Thomas.

With slightly more trepidation, Minho began again to work himself down on Thomas through both of their jeans. He felt words slipping out of his mouth, but he didn’t know what they were. Probably _oh my god Thomas how are you so cute youre so cute youre adorable how did i end up so lucky and i bet you have a super big dick that i can ride all night because youre so cute and im cute and we’re cute together_ judging by the way Thomas was preening.

Thomas tugged on the hem of Minho’s shirt. “Can I take it off?” he asked, breathy.

Minho laughed. “Is that even a question?” He began to pull the long-sleeved shirt off over his head but Thomas stopped him.

“No, no. Can _I_ do it?” he repeated. Minho completely aborted, grinning. He held his arms up as Thomas started at the waist and dragged the shirt up. And then-

Nothing.

Minho was stuck in a world of light gray.

“It’s stuck,” Thomas informed Minho, slightly put off.

“Funny enough, I noticed,” Minho retorted, his arms flopping down uselessly, exposing his eyes. “Maybe I should do it.”

“It’s not my fault your abs are distracting,” Thomas defended, running a hand along Minho’s chest and abdomen. Minho tried his hardest to suppress a shiver. He suddenly hated the idea of shirts, and thrust his up with renewed purpose. He tossed it onto the floor. Thomas was staring at him.

“Your turn,” Minho decided. He reached a hand under Thomas’s shirt and began to pull. This time it went off without a hitch. Thomas’s shirt was still warm as Minho threw it next to his own.

And, holy _shit_ , Thomas’s chest. There was a bud of hair near the base of his stomach, and more littered in the area above it, near his collar bones. His muscles were strong and toned, and Minho kind of really wanted to lick them. That being said, it occurred to Minho that it had, in fact, been way too long since his mouth was on Thomas. He set to work.

Thomas’s muscles flexed as Minho ran his mouth up and down his chest, and Minho could _feel_ it happen. He darted his tongue out just as he neared Thomas’s left nipple. Thomas moaned. Minho felt a flush of pride, and rewarded himself by giving a thorough grind down onto Thomas’s lap.

“You need to stop doing that if you don’t want me to come in my pants like a fucking teenager,” Thomas said, his voice nearly air. Minho’s breath hitched.

“Pants. Pants should come off. Fuck pants,” Minho said, a belated realization. He reached down and popped the button of his jeans open. The relief was partial, but immediate. Minho let out a small gasp.

Everything froze when Minho felt Thomas’s hand press into the base of his stomach, _dangerously_ close to where Minho so desperately needed it. The room was filled with the sound of heavy, intense breathing.

“Can I-?”

“Fucking _please_ -” Minho begged, practically throwing himself up into Thomas’s grasp. Thomas did the rest of the work, and the feeling of a hand that was not his own wrapping around his cock made Minho _whimper_. He would never live this down.

“I love your voice,” Thomas murmured. “Say everything. Let it all - fuck.”

Minho was distracted at the sudden absence of wonderful heat and friction. He glanced down immediately, and what he was made a dabble of precome escape him. Thomas was undoing his own jeans, and working to slide the edges of them down. Minho hopped off for a moment to do them both a favor. While he was up, he shimmied the rest of the way out of his pants before he could chicken out, grabbed a condom from the nightstand drawer.

“What’s our plan?” Minho asked absently, as he reached down to stroke himself. Thomas seemed rooted to the spot, fixed on that simple, repeating movement. Minho was almost tempted to get himself off completely this way, just to see how Thomas would react.

“You’re going to come over here and fuck the living brains out of me,” Thomas answered resolutely.

Minho’s eyebrows shot upward. “Really?” he asked unsteadily. “Our - our first time and you want to - to-”

“If you want to,” Thomas answered, sexy pretense gone, nodding. “If not, that’s totally okay, I just thought-”

Minho was a little nervous, and he probably looked it. But there was a way to back off and to keep the atmosphere, so he muttered, “Next time...” Then, he came back onto Thomas with a vengeance. “Tonight, you’ll just have to deal with my mouth.”

Thomas hummed from deep in his throat. “It’s all I’ve thought about - every time for the last - I don’t know how long...”

Minho felt his gut wrench. He brought his oh so dirty mouth down onto Thomas’s neck, began to bite and nip at the skin there. He felt Thomas’s moan before he heard it.

“You’d better hurry if you want to get to it in time,” Thomas said, his voice ragged, his chest heaving. It was the most perfect sight Minho had ever seen. He didn’t waste a moment.

Thomas’s boxers were green and white plaid, with little fireflies on them. Minho grinned as he dug two fingers into either side and began to pull downward, while Thomas made some ridiculous excuse about _if he had known_...

As he threw the useless garment aside, Minho wondered if he might actually die of thirst. Thomas was there, completely exposed before him. Minho took the silent incentive and pulled off his own (dark blue) boxers before throwing them randomly behind him. He needed to get his mouth on Thomas sooner than immediately.

Thomas gave a low, shuddering sigh and Minho’s lips connected with sensitive skin. He leaned back on his elbows, arms and legs shaking from the level of ecstasy. Minho only wanted to draw it out.

He brought his head down as far as it would go and then some, until he could feel Thomas’s head pressing into the back of his throat. Then he pulled off a little, so as to get better room for his tongue to move around in. Thomas’s noises continued.

Minho pulled out every little trick he could think of. In the end, it was the humming that made Thomas lose control and spill into Minho’s mouth. Minho popped off, got a small blast right over his closed left eye, and down his cheek. He swallowed what was already in his mouth, then licked his lips in the hopes that Thomas was watching.

“Min - Min - Min...” was all Thomas could get out. His eyes were closed, and his whole body was shaking, but he was still sitting up, leaned back on his elbows. Minho took the opportunity to wipe his face clean with his thumb, and deposit the excess on his bed sheet.

Minho climbed over so that he was sitting on Thomas’s right, began to use his time to start working himself up - after all, he now had perfect jerk-off material for the rest of his life. He’d be eighty years old and never need Viagra. Thomas was his own personal Viagra.

Minho’s eyes snapped shut and he leaned back on one hand. His legs were shaking. He still had the image of Thomas, the feel of Thomas in his mouth, the want spreading through his gut like hot liquid.

And then his hand was being swatted away, and Minho looked down in confusion. Thomas was there, holding Minho’s hand in his own, taking a predatory stance over Minho before going down on him.

Minho’s legs jerked at the first contact. Everything was _hot hot hot_ and _wet_ and _Thomas_ and Minho was literally going to explode from ecstasy. He could not physically believe that this was happening to him. Thomas was _swallowing around him_ -

Minho gave it all up, not that he had a choice. Everything in his stomach flushed out through his dick as brilliant sparks burst in front of his eyes and the only word he could think or say was _Thomas_.

  
5.

“I can’t believe you actually put in _Star Wars_. You’re a lunatic,” Thomas murmured, but he was the little spoon, so Minho firmly believed that he didn’t get an opinion.

Minho pressed a kiss into the curve of Thomas’s neck. The words _I love you_ had been dancing on the tip of his tongue for years now, since a few months after they had first met, and Minho wanted nothing more than to say them now. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to freak Thomas out. He didn’t want to freak _himself_ out. But he loved Thomas.

“I put in _Star Wars_ because you like _Star Wars_ so quit being a little slinthead and enjoy the movie.” Minho kissed Thomas’s neck again, soft and tender. A tiny, unspoken _I love you_.

“Man, your pillow talk is really impeccable,” Thomas murmured, but Minho could hear the smile on his face. He never thought there would come a moment in his life where he would feel so completely and utterly content. _I love you_. His heart was going to burst if he didn’t say it.

“That’s the comment I usually get when I ask romantic partners to fill out the survey afterwards,” Minho deadpanned. Thomas laughed as Leigha remarked about Luke’s height. It was like music to Minho’s ears.

There was a heavy, intimate silence between them now. Minho kissed Thomas a third time, just because he could. _I love you_.

“W-what?” Thomas asked suddenly. Minho’s heart jolted. He hadn’t - he hadn’t said that out _loud_ , had he? Please, God, no. Tell him he had not. “What did you just say?”

“I - what _did_ I just say?” Minho mumbled, eyes wide.

“Did you - you love me?” Thomas asked softly. He turned so that he was facing Minho, who was leaning up on one elbow, and he didn’t look immediately disgusted, so that was a very good sign.

“I - I - yeah,” Minho admitted, before he could stop himself. The arm holding him up was shaking. He’d just royally fucked up. Not only had he sprung _I love you_ , but it was  _right after sex what is wrong with him Minho you stupid idio_ _t_.

But then Thomas was there, and _Star Wars_ didn’t exist, because Minho was being kissed like he had never been kissed before, and he sort of wanted to cry because it was so perfect. He loved Thomas.

Thomas broke apart for a gasp of air, so Minho said it again. Consciously, this time. “I love y-mmpph.” Thomas kissed him again, before he could finish.

“I love you,” Minho breathed, between each and every kiss, as soon as he had the chance. I love you. I love you. I love you I love yo I lo youI ly...

And then, Thomas pulled back and stared at Minho. Minho was stunned into silence by the look, so pure, so filled with intimate affection. “I lov-”

A knock sounded on the door, and from the other side came a soft, “Okay, I’ve been listening for like two minutes and I don’t really hear anything so when I come in I expect pants on but I need my math textbook, okay lads?”

Minho stared, his features slowly turning from affectionate to disbelieving to pissed off.

He jumped off the bed and began shouting as he grabbed the textbook and bounded toward the door, “Newt, I’m _going to KILL YOU_! YOU COULDN’T HAVE WAITED LIKE FIVE MORE SECONDS TO KNOCK ON THAT STUPID DAMN DOOR?! YOU’D BETTER FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO STAY TONIGHT IF YOU WANT TO WAKE UP TOMORROW. HERE’S YOUR FUCKING TEXTBOOK YOU BLOODY SHANK!” And Minho opened the door, threw the textbook at a very shocked-looking Newt, and shut it again in his face.

When he turned around again, Thomas was sitting up, looking startled. He was fiddling with the tag of the blanket they’d been using. “I - uh-”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Minho said, sighing. He looked at the ground and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. “That was - I - he-”

“I love you, Minho,” Thomas said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Minho looked up at him. “Really?” he asked. Thomas nodded. Minho dropped his hand and groaned with relief. “Oh thank God because I’m so pissed at him. Literally, I’ve been waiting for that moment for _three years_ and then _fucking math_ comes along and ruins my life _again_!”

Thomas let out a shy, bubbling laugh. “I love you,” he said.

“Holy shit, we love each other,” Minho clarified, for the slow kids. He could feel his rage bubbling downward as it sunk in. His heart felt like it was melting into gooey mush and traveling up into his throat. Thomas loved Minho. Minho loved Thomas. They loved each other. They could have sex _all the time now_.

Thomas grinned. He opened his mouth to speak-

“CALLED IT!” Newt shouted from behind the door.

Minho tore ass to get out the door. Newt was already running, textbook abandoned, as fast as he could down the hallway. Minho was a track star, okay? He could haul ass like nobody’s business. And when he ran after Newt, he _ran after Newt_.

“Uncle! Uncle!” Newt shouted. He hadn’t even made it out of the building. Minho was on top of him, pinning him down by the shoulders with both hands.

“You lost the right to Uncle!” Minho shouted, as Newt squirmed. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do just yet, but he couldn’t let Newt get away.

“Shouldn’t you be doing this to your new _boyfriend_ instead?”

“Oh, you’re fuckin’ dead, kid,” Minho growled. He crossed his left arm over Newt’s shoulders to keep him steady while he used his right to give Newt the most hardcore noogie of his life, then entire time Newt shouting _no wait! I ship it! I ship it_!

  
\+ + +

 

“Okay, go ahead, Newt,” Minho said.

“Thomas, I am a big, fat, bloody loser,” Newt grinded out, with teeth slightly clenched. He looked to Minho as though he thought he might be done now. As if.

“And?” Minho prodded.

Newt sighed heavily and dramatically. “And Minho is totally cool and you should one hundred percent keep dating him.”

“And?”

“And you have a nice butt.”

“That’s not what-!”

“Do you disagree, you bloody shank?”

“Nah, Thomas, you do have a very nice butt,” Minho agreed, with a couple of solemn nods.

“Oh my God, you guys, _stop_ ,” Thomas pleaded. His eyes were wide and his face was bright red.

“No, no. Newt still has more to say,” Minho said, holding up a hand. He gestured to Newt. “Isaac?” he prodded.

“And for the next six months whenever you and Minho want to have alone time I will not be within two miles of this dorm room no matter what.”

“And?”

“And I’m sorry for hanging up a sign in the common room announcing that you two finally started dating.”

“And?”

“And you’re welcome for introducing you to each other and giving you literally the perfect opportunity to - _Christ_ \- fall in love.”

“ _And_?”

“And I would not be nearly half as cool as I am if Minho did not live in the same dorm as me, and Minho is a very good and easy person to live with, and of his many best features, I like his hair the most, and he is always very witty and funny and sarcastic. And... Fuck, what was the last one?”

“It’s about him,” Minho reminded Newt.

“Oh! Oh, right. And Minho did not ever talk about you like a kid in middle school with a very big crush because he is the epitome of cool even if you have - quote - eyes like golden sunshine and a face to make the gods weep.”

“Okay, that’s it. Thank you, Newton. Now scram,” Minho said. He swatted Newt on the shoulder, and Newt practically sprinted toward the door.

“Just give me like ten minutes to get out of two miles! I have a limp you know!” Newt exclaimed as he bolted out the hallway.

“I cannot believe that-”

“Got rid of him, didn’t it?” Minho enthused. He stepped up to Thomas and held the back of his neck with his right hand. “Besides, I want a limp, too.”

 

\+ + +

 

“Okay, so I know Sprite’s your favorite but they were out of Sprite so I got you Mountain Dew because that’s like the next best thing I guess,” Thomas said, upon entering Minho’s dorm room. He held out two bottles, neither of which had labels on them. Minho nearly rolled his eyes.

“Now you’re contaminating _my_ labels? Just great,” Minho huffed.

He was doing homework, and Newt was laying on his bed, watching _Breaking Bad_. He shot up when Thomas entered. “Shit - am I supposed to go anywhere? You guys know you’re supposed to send texts so I can already be on my way-”

“No, no, lay down,” Thomas muttered with an arm wave, his face heating up. He made a beeline for Minho and kissed him as he delivered his present. “Okay, so is the paper happening or should I stay?”

“You _could_ do both,” Minho suggested.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “The last time we tried that, you got two Ds.”

“ _Three_ Ds, if you’re counting-”

Newt let out a loud shout to censor the next words. Several bangs on the wall came from both sides. Thomas’s face flushed.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Thomas suggested. He glanced around the room, at the half-finished papers scattered everywhere and the laptop that lay open with a blank browser ready at a moment’s notice. “You look like you could use a break.”

“I could definitely use a break. I could use a break in my back because you bent me over and-”

“Okay, _really_?” Newt asked. “I’m literally ten feet away, you guys. Go take your dumb walk you stupid, bloody love birds. Hope the weather is nice in paradise.”

“Oh, yes,” Minho agreed. “Year round. Lovely climate.” He stood up and pulled Thomas in for a kiss that was long and passionate. He dipped Thomas, and Thomas made some noise of confusion. Minho smirked into the kiss.

“Really, guys? I’m just trying to enjoy some meth drama. I call PDA,” Newt said. Minho had to break for laughter.

“Yes, walking sounds very nice,” he told Thomas, whose eyes were slightly out of focus as he ran his tongue along his lips. Minho was dumbfounded. After three months of this, he thought his heart was supposed to calm down at the sight.

“Get _out_ of here!” Newt commanded amiably. “Great, now I have to rewind because I have no idea what’s going on... Bloody shanks...”

Thomas shook his head. He held his hand out for Minho to take. “Let’s go,” he muttered, smirking. Minho still stared in wonder.

They didn’t say anything until they walked out of the dorm complex. Thomas began swinging their hands lightly. Minho could tell he was nervous, although he had no idea why.

“Okay, so I may have had some ulterior motives for dragging you out here,” Thomas began. Minho snatched his hand away.

“That’s it! I knew it. You want me to blow you. Fine. For the good of the community. Pants down, now.” Minho stepped slightly ahead of Thomas so that he was walking backward, and they kept that pace.

“No, no, shut up, this is serious,” Thomas said. Minho’s face fell. He broke stride and dropped back next to Thomas.

“What is it?” he asked.

“No, not like _serious_ but just, like, I don’t want to have a boner when I’m asking you,” Thomas explained. Minho nodded thoughtfully.

“Alright, then let me ask it in a slightly less dreading manner. What is it?” Minho repeated. He bumped Thomas’s side with his own. He glanced over and Thomas was smiling lightly.

“Okay, so there’s no way to ease into this, so I’m just gonna, like, ask.”

“ _Are_ you? Because from where I’m standing it feels a little bit like you’re never going to,” Minho said.

“Well, I _would_ if you would quit interrupting me,” Thomas said, then paused, as though he was waiting for a reply. Minho made a locked-lips gesture to show that he wanted Thomas to ask. Thomas cleared his throat. “Fine. Do you want to meet my family?”

Minho’s face blew wide. He blinked several times in rapid succession. “As in - your parents?” he inquired bluntly.

“And my little brother.” Thomas nodded. “You don’t have to!” he quickly assured Minho. “I was just - well they’re in town tonight and they’ve been asking about you so I figured that we could kill two birds with one stone if we both went and visited them.”

Minho’s heart was considerably accelerated. “You - I - _parents_?”

“Okay, you’re not ready. I understand, don’t worry,” Thomas said. Minho wasn’t sure when they had stopped walking, but now they stood facing each other. “I was freaked out when they first asked, too.”

Minho struggled for words to convey what he was thinking, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate until he forced himself to spit them out. “No - no! I - I - okay. We can meet them. _I_ can meet them. You obviously already know them. Because... They.. You... Yes. Uh. Okay, when?”

Thomas’s face lit up into a very nervous but very eager smile. “Really? Okay! Uh, okay! So, can you do tonight at five? They wanted to go out for dinner.”

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck - where? How should I dress? Will my hair be okay? What time is it now? How much money should I bring? Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Minho stammered, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His stomach was tingling all over with nerves. Any second he was about to go into a panic, and it would be best if Thomas didn’t see that, because he’d insist they they postpone it. Minho forced himself to keep it down.

“Hey. Hey hey hey. Calm down,” Thomas murmured softly, and put his hands on Minho’s shoulders, close enough that the tips rested on Minho’s neck. It did wonders for Minho’s breathing rate. “Everything’s okay. They’re going to like you, I _promise_. As long as you don’t make a goddamn blowjob joke every five seconds.”

“I don’t have anything else to talk about. Your dick is my entire world right now, Thomas,” Minho insisted.

Thomas rolled his eyes and kissed Minho. “I love you,” he reminded him, “but you are an idiot. Alright, so we’re going to Olive Garden, okay? I’m going to wear a button-up shirt, so you should wear a button-up shirt. You’ll look fine. Don’t worry about paying or any of that shit. My parents will take care of it. I _promise_ you that everything’s going to go smoothly.”

“Okay okay okay. And as much as I love you and your damn addictive hands I have to check my phone hold on - what time is it?” Minho reached into his pocket and pulled out the small device, clicked it on. His stomach fell out of his ass and onto the ground. “Fuck my life it’s three fucking ten. Shit shit shit I haven’t showered since the day before yesterday I have to go shower I have to go do everything I have to fix my life okay I’m going to go where are we meeting how am I showing up dear God Thomas help me fuck.”

“Alright, you’re freaking out too much. We’re doing this another night,” Thomas decided firmly. He held Minho’s hands in his. “Don’t worry about it, alright? They won’t mind if y-”

“No. No, okay? We’re doing this. It’s just short notice. I - I have to go. Am I meeting all of you or am I meeting you and then we’re going up to them together or-”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_.” Minho nodded for emphasis.

Thomas considered him for a very long moment. Minho started practically vibrating in place. He had to start showering like thirty minutes ago.

“Alright. I’ll come by your dorm at quarter of and we’ll meet up with them. Hey, don’t freak out,” Thomas murmured. He reached up and pulled Minho’s face close to his. Minho watched Thomas stare at his lips for what must have been a full ten seconds, during which all thoughts of rushing were wiped completely from Minho’s mind, before they kissed. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Minho answered back. “Just - uh - just one thing.”

“Yeah, anything.”

“Can I borrow a button-up shirt?”

 

\+ + +

 

Minho’s life was a blur as he ran back to his dorm as fast as his very fast legs could carry him. Newt was still there, and Minho had to explain everything in the rush of ten seconds as he caused a whirlwind of destruction around the room to get his things together. He began applauding and whooping as Minho dashed to the shower.

And then there was the fiasco of hair, and the fiasco of getting dressed with Newt still taking the piss, and then the knock on the door which meant Thomas was there, and then the internal freak out because _holy fucking shit_.

Minho opened the door, his eyes wide. Thomas saw his face and shifted into concerned-boyfriend mode. His eyes scanned Minho for less than a second before they flew to his hair and he started snickering. “What the hell did you do?” he asked, then attempted to force out a neutral face. Minho grimaced.

“I - it’s flat. I tried to gel it and - shit, it’s weird, isn’t it? I fucked up everything and it’s too late now to-”

“You look great, Minho,” Thomas assured him. “Here, put this on.” He handed Minho a light blue shirt that somehow fit him. It wasn’t weird or anything. Minho had worn Thomas’s clothes before. “We have to leave in five minutes.”

“Five minutes. Oh God. Five minutes. Alright, well you’re driving because I’ve got literally no gas and I would get us into a crash. I can’t even talk right right now oh God.”

“ _Minho_. You are freaking out for _nothing_. Everything will be okay. I promise. They’re going to love you,” Thomas said.

“I agree,” Newt contributed. “You’re both bloody gorgeous and you’re going to have bloody gorgeous adopted children. Now go on your bloody date so I can have some peace and quiet.”

Minho ignored him. He held his hands out and spun around. “How do I look?” he asked Thomas nervously.

“Perfect,” Thomas said, and pulled Minho in for a kiss. “Are you ready?”

“No, but let’s go,” Minho answered. His stomach felt like a bomb had just gone off in it. Their arms around each other, Thomas and Minho left.

 

\+ + +

 

“I’m going to fuck everything uuuuuup,” Minho announced, shaking his leg, as Thomas drove closer and closer to their relationship’s doom. Thomas shook his head.

“Quit worrying about this. Everything will be fine,” Thomas assured him.

“Wow, I’m cured!” Minho replied sarcastically. “Weird, all I had to do was stop being in love with you.”

“Ha ha.”

“Shit, how close are we?”

“It’s at the end of this street,” Thomas answered calmly.

“I think you mean state. Just keep driving,” Minho urged. “We can go on a road trip. It’ll be fun. Haven’t you always wanted to see the Grand Canyon? It’s just a few days away. Isn’t that a shame? So close but we’ve never bothered to-”

“Minho, I _promise_ you that my parents are going to like you. My dad did track in school, and I do track, so he likes that you do track, and my mom thinks I can do no wrong,” Thomas said. Then he turned into the plaza that held the Olive Garden, and Minho was about ready to jump ship and run all the way back to his dorm.

“Holy crap, is that them?” Minho called. There was a family of three getting out of a car and standing there, watching Thomas’s car pull in. “Oh my God. I can’t do this. Thomas, I can’t do this. Oh my God.”

“Yes, that’s them,” Thomas said, and he grabbed Minho’s hand and kissed the knuckles. Somehow, impossibly, Minho felt better. “You can do this, Minho. You broke the one hundred meter sprint record of five years on your first try, and you aced your English midterm, and you can meet my family.”

Thomas shut off the car, and Minho felt a sense of urgency. He knew they couldn’t, but he asked, “Can we just stay in the car until they go away?”

“Alright. Minho. Enough. Come on, we’re going to go out there and meet them. Or, you can ask me to leave one more time, and we’ll drive away. It’s one hundred percent up to you.” Thomas stared at Minho with a level gaze as he spoke. Minho stared back until the tension seemed enough to make the car burst.

Then he opened the car door.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Thomas grinned.

 

+1.

Thomas’s mother was tall, but shorter than Thomas, and his dad was tall, but shorter than Minho. They were both regarding Minho with an analyzing but amiable look. The little boy with curly hair smushed between them ran forward.

“Thomas!” he yelled. As soon as Thomas was close enough, the boy wrapped his arms around Thomas’s middle.

“Hey there, buddy,” Thomas greeted. “I want you to meet my friend, Minho. Minho, this is Chuck. Chuck, this is Minho.”

Chuck looked up at Minho. “Hello!” he said.

“Uh, hi,” Minho replied, as not-nervous as he could make his voice sound.

“Are you gay?”

“W-what?” Minho asked, nearly choking on his own throat.

“Or are you bisexual? Or are you straight but Thomas is an exception? Don’t worry. I know all about this stuff. I watch _Modern Family_ and my mom told me she’s bisexual, too. She said it’s okay to be whatever you are, unless it’s an asshole.”

“Chuck!” came a cry from Thomas’s mother.

“Sorry, sorry. A _jerk_. Anyway, so what are you?” Chuck asked again.

“Chuck, man, don’t do that. You know what mom said about labels. Don’t put people underneath a sticker,” Thomas chided.

Chuck finally looked abashed. “Sorry,” he muttered. But Minho was alright. If anything, that had helped to calm his nerves, for whatever reason. He felt like the worst of it was over.

“No problem. Don’t worry about it, Chuck,” Minho replied. And then Thomas’s father was in front of Minho, shaking his hand. It took all of Minho’s willpower not to stumble backward in alarm and fright.

“Hello, Minho,” Thomas’s father said. “Thomas has told us so much about you. Glad to see that you two are finally together.”

Minho’s eyes widened. He glanced back at Thomas, who looked like the ground was cracking beneath his feet. “Dad. Are - you - _serious_? Is that really the first thing you’re going to say to Minho? _Hello my son has always had a massive crush on you_. Unbelievable.” The words weren’t spiteful, but Thomas’s dad recoiled.

“Ah, it’s nice to meet you, Minho,” Thomas’s dad tried again.

“It’s nice to meet you too, sir,” Minho replied. He could practically hear Thomas snickering. Minho decided at that moment that he was going to receive several blowjobs as reward for this night.

And then Thomas’s father was replaced by his mother, who was beaming. She shook Minho’s hand as well. “We’re very glad that you could come. Ever since Thomas told us that-”

Thomas cleared his throat loudly and pointedly. His mother rolled her eyes with fond exasperation.

“Maybe we should all just head inside,” she suggested, one eyebrow drifting skyward. “Are you hungry, Minho?”

Minho made a few noncommittal noises before stuttering out, “I - sure.” Thomas’s mother looked thrilled, and Thomas himself took her place this time. He slid his fingers in between Minho’s.

“See, now that wasn’t so bad,” he murmured encouragingly. “And I won’t tell you just how I’m going to pay you back yet, because we are still in the presence of my parents.”

“Fricking geez,” Minho sputtered out. “I’m not going to survive this night.”

Thomas gave a subtle laugh, rubbed Minho’s shoulder affectionately. “They like you. I can tell. Everything is going to go great. I promise.”

Minho side glanced at Thomas. For the first time, he felt like he might be able to believe him. “Okay. I can do dinner. I can talk.”

“And, when in doubt, I’ll talk for you,” Thomas said. “When you’re in trouble, squeeze my hand. I’ll think of something to say. I’m good at that stuff.”

“Yeah, I know you are.”

The table was round. Minho was seated between Thomas and Thomas’s father. Chuck was on the other side of Thomas, and then Thomas’s mother. The conversation was initially a few comments on the menu or the weather or the time it took to travel all the way up here. Minho kept carefully silent as he examined the menu and completely over-analyzed his options.

And then, the dreaded doom began.

“So, Minho, Thomas tells us you’re on the school’s track team,” Thomas’s father said.

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“And that you’re going to school on a sport’s scholarship,” contributed his mother. “That’s very nice.”

“Yeah.”

Minho pressed his panic Thomas. Thomas squeezed back tightly.

“You know what, if you guys are ever in town, you should come to one of Minho’s races. He’s incredible to watch,” Thomas suggested.

Minho’s eyes flew open. He turned to look at Thomas with an intense stare. “Yeah. Incredible.” He gritted his teeth and returned his gaze to his menu. Everything seemed too expensive or too messy.

“Oh, really?” commented Thomas’s mother. “I suppose we’ll have to, then. When’s your next race, Minho?”

Minho started. He stared at Thomas’s mother for a whole five seconds before answering. “Um, it’s next weekend.” He squeezed Thomas’s hand again, despite how little it had helped him last time.

“You’ll probably be back in New York by then-”

“Oh, _nonsense_! We always miss you, silly. We’ll make a special drive up so we can see you, and we can watch Minho run,” Thomas’s mother suggested. Then she turned to Thomas’s father. “What do you think, dear?”

“Mmmm, oh yes, of course we would. What do you say, Chuck? Would you like to come up, too?”

Chuck glanced up from his kid’s menu. “I have Clint’s birthday party next weekend,” he reminded his parents.

Minho wanted to stand up and shout _Oh no how terrible guess you’ll have to stay home with him maybe next time_.

“Alright, well we’ll call Teresa up and have her stay a few nights, then,” Thomas’s mother said. Minho was sure that at this point he was squeezing Thomas’s hand non-stop, but he couldn’t force himself to loosen his grip. “We’d love to see you run, Minho.”

“Actually, do you know, Minho and I should wash our hands before we eat,” Thomas suggested. Minho immediately spotted this as Thomas giving him his ticket out. He nodded fervently.

“Why? Where have your hands been?” Chuck asked. Minho was so glad that their orders hadn’t been taken yet, because he’d have choked on something.

“Okay, yeah, we’re going to go,” Thomas said quickly. “Be right back.” He stood, and Minho certainly broke some sort of record with how fast he moved to follow him.

The bathroom was at the end of the room and through a small hallway. By the time Minho got inside, he could barely breathe. “Shit, I’m sorry, Min. I wasn’t thinking,” Thomas said immediately.

The bathroom was otherwise deserted, and for that Minho was grateful. “I can’t race with them here, Thomas. I’ll fuck everything up. I can’t afford to fuck up my races, okay? Oh man, I’m completely blowing this entire dinner. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, don’t worry about it, okay? You’re not, alright? You’re not.” Thomas persisted. He placed one hand on Minho’s chest, the other on his shoulder. “But try to tone down your stress, okay? I’m right there. And they _like_ you. Believe me. We would know if they didn’t. Which they wouldn’t. Because you’re great, Minho. Like, superbly awesome. And you have a giant dick that I absolutely adore.”

Minho let out a harsh laugh. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Thomas,” he said. “I’d never go through something like this for someone like Newt or Alby. Kiss me before we go back out there.”

Thomas’s lips should be served as medication. Minho could feel his tension lifting, with every small press of mouths together. “I love you,” he whispered softly.

“Gross,” came a rank exclamation from the door. Minho jumped a foot in the air and scooted away from Thomas faster than sound. Chuck sauntered in.

“Chuck, what the hell are you doing?” Thomas asked in a bristly tone.

Chuck snorted. “Washing my hands,” he answered superfluously. He sidled up to the sink and turned on the tap. “You guys are using some weird sinks. And weird hands.”

“Look, just go tell Mom and Dad that we’ll be right out, okay?” Thomas said testily. He was regarding Minho with a look of longing, but mild chuffing mixed in with it. Like he was annoyed at being separated. Minho’s heart fluttered.

“Whatever, dude,” Chuck said, wiping his hands on his pants and leaving.

Thomas watched Minho for a while, his gaze soft. “Sorry,” he said at last. Then he held out his hand for Minho to take. “Ready?”

Minho took a deep breath. He reached for Thomas’s hand and prepared himself. With Thomas backing him, he knew they could (somehow) pull it off. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he replied, “Ready.” And, together, they walked out.


End file.
